


The Afterparty

by Luv15



Category: Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Leia and Han hiding their relationship but not so much; Rogue parties, Romance, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 02:30:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12695283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luv15/pseuds/Luv15
Summary: Slightly AU in that this is set on Hoth and Leia and Han are romantically involved...on the QT.





	The Afterparty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Erin Darroch](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Erin+Darroch).



Hoth wouldn’t immediately spring to mind as a location worth celebrating. The facts that the Alliance had been able to hold out there for so long and use it as a base from which to operate successful missions against the Empire were laudable enough reasons to somewhat appreciate the miserable place. 

The "Hoth Base Second Anniversary Birthday Bash" was the brainchild of Rogue Squadron’s perennial party planner Wes Janson. In light of his last venture, known throughout the Alliance as “The Regrettable Paint Ball Incident of ABY1,” Wes suspected that his name attached to any suggestion to the social committee would be met with immediate rejection.

Undaunted, he had filled out the necessary form, scribbled “Derek Klivian” on the signature line and whooped with glee when the proposed event was officially authorized by the brass. Even starchy Mon Mothma recognized that the youthful Rebels under her command needed to cut loose from time to time.

The approval came with caveats. The Mess Hall could be used as the venue, but set-up and clean-up committees must be formed and do their jobs. No intoxicating beverages would be served. Music was to be kept to a lower-than-eardrum-shattering decibel. Attendees must disperse by 2300 and be fit for duty the following day. 

As far as Wes was concerned, the no booze edict was no problemo. BYOB was de riguer at Rebel gatherings and liquor somehow always managed to be available and free flowing. The imposed ending time didn’t matter, either. The official event was a mere precursor to the much more entertaining afterparties that popped up throughout the base. Celebrants would meander around seeking out the music, card games, cocktails or company that fit their personal tastes. Anyplace where a dozen or more beings could gather would do: locker rooms, dark corners of the hangar, the closed-for-the-night blaster range. Participants in the inevitable post-party hook-ups always managed to find discreet hideaways for more intimate interactions. 

There was an anticipatory buzz the day of the event. Everyone, especially the female beings, seemed to take extra care with their appearance, dipping deep into lockers and trunks to find more festive, civilian-style attire suitable for a big night out. Leia Organa was no exception even though her wardrobe pickings were almost as slim as everyone else’s. The exquisite clothing and jewelry she had been accustomed to in her life before the war had long been lost. There was not much use for such finery in her efforts against the Empire, however, diplomatic duties often required more formal attire than her standard Alliance uniform. A shrewd quartermaster, who had been a skilled seamstress before the war, had procured a simple yet elegant gown for such purposes and altered it to fit Leia’s petite frame. The lovely garment was carefully tucked away, saved for the princess to don when protocol demanded. Tonight’s party would warrant a wearing, too.

Always neat yet practical about her appearance, Leia chuckled when she found herself primping before the mirror in preparation for the evening. Formal balls and urbane galas were staples of her pre-war life. But she had never looked forward to those soirees with as much fluttery expectation as she was for the unsophisticated bash taking place that night in the crummy Echo Base Mess. Because, tonight, Leia Organa would attend the event with a certain Corellian freighter pilot, as he phrased it, “in front of High Command and everybody.”

Like Mon Mothma’s regulations for Wes’ party plans, Leia had spelled out a few rules of her own regarding her and Han’s personal interactions at the party:

She would go with him, but he could not indulge in any public display of affection. (“I mean it, Han!”) 

When not dancing, - (“Two dances. Period. Well... maybe three.”) - he would not stand too close, put his arm around her shoulder or waist nor hold her hand. 

While chatting with other guests, he could not discuss her nor hint at how much private time they had been spending with each other of late. (“I MEAN it, Han! Especially in front of the Rogues.”) 

The lanky ship’s captain had rolled his eyes at each demand, but agreed with minimal protest. (“It’s just a dance, Sweetheart. Ain’t no different ’n if you’d be dancin’ with Luke or Antilles. Nobody’ll even notice.”) 

This, he knew, wasn’t quite true. Han understood that he and the princess were a favorite topic for base gossip and Rogue Squadron betting pools. The smitten pilot didn’t care. But, those things bothered Leia, so he vowed to do what he could to minimize her concerns. He knew their upcoming appearance together was a huge step for the emotionally guarded Leia Organa. 

Han Solo. Leia contemplated the man as she swept dark kohl liner along thick, curled eyelashes. After three years of shared missions and encounters filled with vicious verbal spats, on-and-off-again truces, dramatic battles with the Empire, playful banter and near-death experiences, the tiny Rebel leader and the tall spacer had recently reached a much more amicable and intimate accord. 

They had yet to put a name to the new place in which they found themselves. The term “dating” seemed ridiculous given that there was nowhere to go on base except her quarters or the Falcon. Undertaking a mission together didn’t quite fit the definition of “date night.”

Han didn’t need to define it, Leia thought. Whatever "it" was. He seemed happy living in the moment. If only she could do the same, stop overthinking, not dwell on the fact that situations can change and relationships can easily be lost. But she was determined to try. Tonight, she would dip in a tiny toe to test the public relationship waters. 

Was it just over a dozen standard weeks ago when Solo began escorting her to her quarters at the end of the work day, she pondered? Night after night, she stood inside her doorway, Han on the outside, a broad shoulder leaning into the jamb. They’d remain there for hours, chatting away about everything and nothing.

It was following a late night return from a mission to Njaren Station -- four argument-free, talk-filled days together -- when they both found themselves on Leia’s side of the thick steel door. After that evening, a bottle of wine or flavorful ale became part of the nightly mix. Next thing she knew, formerly awkward embraces had become natural and once tentative kisses had deepened. As to when they started falling asleep together while watching old holofilms on her data pad, comfortably crowded together on her single bunk, Leia just couldn’t say. 

Her musings were interrupted by the buzz of her comm link. Leia’s freshly stained lips turned up in a smile as the caller’s I.D. flashed on the screen: Han. 

“Hey, Princess,” his familiar, deep voice coming through hoarse and muffled. “Runnin’ behind schedule. Me ‘n Chewie got stuck on Ithor. Meteor showers held up incoming traffic. Waited six hours for our pickup to arrive. Doubt we’ll make it back before Mon pulls the plug on the party.”

Leia sighed, disappointed, but resigned. “I understand. Don’t push it. You know where to find me.”

“Be wearin’ your dancin’ shoes, Sweetheart. Gonna’ take a twirl whether it’s at the official shindig or not.”

“Those shoes will be tapped out if you’re not back until dawn, Hotshot. I’ll see you when I see you. Be safe,” she grinned as she clicked off the communications device. 

So much for their plans. Truth be told, Leia was a tad relieved. All day long, she had been second-guessing her decision about being seen behaving more familiarly with Han. Now she wouldn’t have to walk the fine line of enjoying her time with him while being subjected to base scrutiny or potentially hurting his feelings by keeping too cool a distance.

She decided she‘d make a just-long-enough-to-be-polite appearance at the official celebration before returning to her quarters. Her own private afterparty would begin when her one and only guest, a fiery Corellian contractor, returned from his Mid Rim supply run. 

\------------------------  
As the evening wore on, it became obvious that the Falcon and its crew wouldn’t be back before the lights went out at the Mess Hall gala. Leia assumed she wouldn’t see Han until the next day, so she returned to her quarters and changed into cozy pajamas and a warm robe. The chrono taunted 2342 as she removed her makeup and unpinned her hair, fashioning the long, soft strands into a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. It was getting too late to expect a visit from her favorite pilot, so, she dabbed a soothing balm onto her lips, pulled on a pair of warm socks and curled onto her bunk to get lost in book. 

A knock came at 2415. With a flutter of anticipation, Leia bounced up and opened the door, hand on her hip. “Ditched the dancing shoes an hour ago, Flyboy..….oh!” 

The object of her affection was slouched before her, but he was not alone. Solo was being supported by Luke on one arm, Wedge the other.

Han bent down, his lips oh so close to brushing hers. “Hi ya, Sweetheart,” his deep baritone rumbled, thick and stuffy.

Leia looked at Luke, then to Wedge, her wide eyes flashing the obvious question. 

“He insisted on coming to see you, Princess,” Wedge intoned. “We followed along to be sure he’d make it okay.”

Luke nodded in agreement, “He seemed fine when he showed up at our afterparty,” his inflection akin to Han’s familiar ‘it’s not my fault’ lament.

Han tugged at the belt of Leia’s robe, “Ya look so cute in your lil’ pink PJs, Princess,” he sniffed. Wedge couldn’t hold back a chortled laugh. Luke knew better and didn’t make a sound, wisely finding something incredibly fascinating to inspect on the ceiling. 

Leia peeked into the corridor, relieved to see that it was devoid of any other being. “Get in here,” she grabbed Han by the front of his jacket. The three men shuffled into her quarters as she quickly palmed the door shut.

Han teetered, coughing and rubbing at puffy eyes. He pulled the surprised young woman into a swaying clinch and growled “Let’s dance, darlin’,” as he nuzzled her neck.

Wedge glanced at Luke, a baffled rise to his brows. He’d heard Han’s litany of nicknames for the Princess, but nothing this affectionate and never accompanied with a physical embrace. A just-as-surprised Luke shrugged back.

Leia pulled Han’s arms off of her, pressing them tightly against his chest. “What’s wrong with him?” She looked warily at the Rogues, working to present an aloof coolness. 

She didn’t think he was drunk. Leia knew drunk Han and it didn’t look like this. A tipsy Han operated in a slow, overly deliberate manner to maintain a blurry cool. More important to her, drunk Han always had managed to keep quiet about their developing relationship. This Han seemed silly, somewhat ill and just plain “off.” 

“High, maybe?” Wedge queried. 

“Han loathes spice!,” the princess snapped, quick to shoot down that accusation. Han did hate spice but his past dealings with Jabba were well known. Leia wanted to disavow any idea that the smuggler advocated or used the unsavory product. 

“He was okay one minute and just trashed the next,” Luke explained, incredulous. “He only had...” he looked to Wedge to verify, “one drink?” 

Wedge nodded. Not wanting to be accused of abetting Han’s incapacitation, he decided to throw Wes Janson under the proverbial speeder. “Wes caught him in the hangar after the Falcon landed. Pretty much dragged him to toast the anniversary with us. Maybe had a three-fingers-worth shot of Whyren’s. Han can handle plenty more than that. That’s why this,” Wedge wagged a finger at the coughing, loose-limbed Solo, “is so weird.”

Luke picked up the narrative. “Leia, he was there for less than five minutes and suddenly was just ... wasted. Told us he had to go and kept muttering, ‘I promised the Princess, promised the Princess…”

Wedge nodded in affirmation. “Thought we best tag along. We’ve never seen him like this.”

“Where’s Chewie?” Leia asked. The Wookiee might shed some light on what’s going on. The Rogues did not know. 

A hacking Han Solo flopped down onto Leia’s bunk. Seated, the long-legged Corellian was now at eye-level with the petite young woman. She leaned in to him, fitting herself between his knees, her face drawn with concern. Leia delicately lifted his chin so his eyes met hers.

Her voice was gentle. “Han, where’s Chewie?”

Blinking back at her, he wheezed, “Housekeeping.” She didn’t know what to make of his answer, so she repeated the query, speaking slowly, as if he were a small child. “Han, sweetheart, _where_ is Chewie?”

“Nooooo,” a choking Solo shook his head. “YOU’RE _Sweetheart_ , Sweetheart. 

The Rogue pilots laughed at that, but became immediately contrite with Leia’s biting, “That’s NOT helping.”

“Han,” she tried again, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, “is Chewie on base?”

“Havin’ his pelt vacuumed.” Solo’s breathing was becoming more labored. 

“His pelt vacuumed?” she repeated quizzically, glancing at the Rogue pilots. Luke and Wedge were as confused as she.

“Yeah,” Han responded like what he said was the most ordinary thing ever. An extended, rattled cough escaped his throat, unsettling both himself and Leia. She ran a calming hand through his unruly hair. An unfamiliar sensation caused her to pause. 

“What _is_ this?” She held her hand out to Luke and Wedge. Her palm and fingers were coated in a fine, yellow-green dust. 

“Looks like pollen,” Wedge suggested. 

Leia pulled back and gave Han a once over. She had been so focused on his strained respiration and odd behavior that she hadn’t noticed his dusty appearance. “His jacket is covered in this stuff.” 

Glancing down, she realized that his tall black boots were dull with the same fine powder. When she wiped at his sleeve, Solo was overcome by a fit of wheezes. As Leia helped Han fumble out of his trim blue coat, a small vial popped out of the pocket. Luke snatched it from the floor and identified the contents.

“Benedryl. These are the allergy tabs available in all standard med kits.” Luke continued reading from the label. “Uh, oh. This explains a lot: 'Do not drink alcohol while taking this medication. May cause drowsiness and incoherent behavior. Do not operate heavy equipment or….' Why would he have a drink with us if the instructions say….?”

“Really?” Leia sighed. “Han follow directions? I’m sure he didn’t even read them.” She was trying to keep Han’s roaming hands at bay as he continued tugging at her belt. “I wonder how many he took to make him this loopy?”

Another bout of choking coughs turned their attention back to the afflicted spacer. Solo was clearly in distress, struggling to take in oxygen, all color drained from his face. Alarmed, Leia jumped into battle mode. 

“Wedge, prop open the door to get some fresh air in here, then call Med Bay. Explain what’s happening and tell them to send someone fast…but not a droid.” She knew Han’s aversion to droids and didn’t want to further aggravate him. “Luke, run the shower to warm up the water so we can wash it out of his hair. We need to get these clothes off of him. They’re coated with pollen and can only be making things worse. He must be acutely allergic to whatever this is.” 

Wes Janson and Hobbie Klivian were meandering down the hallway, a repulsor cart loaded with coolers of beer and other libations in tow. Hearing the commotion, they reckoned they had stumbled onto another party. The two poked their heads into the open door to find Leia frantically working to remove Han’s blaster belt. 

“My kind of party,” Wes wisecracked to Hobbie just as Wedge popped his head out from the fresher. 

“Medicals on the way. Said we should rinse him down then keep his chest and head elevated.” 

Leia spied the two Rogues staring from the doorway and barked out orders. “Wes, help Luke and Wedge move Han into the shower. Hobbie, find Chewbacca and bring him to Threepio in the Command Center.”

Hobbie’s feet were firmly planted where he stood, taking in the frantic activity in the small, crowded room. 

“Run, Derek!” Leia cried, shocking Hobbie out of his incapacitation. “I’ll comm Threepio so he knows what’s going on.” 

Moments later, the base PA system was blaring, “Chewbacca, report to the Command Center immediately. Chewbacca, report to the Command Center immediately.”

The three Rogues stripped a distressed Solo down to his boxers and maneuvered his upper body into the shower. Luke and Wedge supported the taller man who was half in and out of the stall as Wes controlled the water spray. 

“If anybody told me I’d be shampooing Han Solo’s hair tonight….” Janson shook his head in disbelief as he ran a soapy hand through Han’s thick mane. After a quick rinse, Luke wrapped a towel around Solo’s neck and the Rogues hauled the sputtering freighter captain back to Leia’s bunk.

Han’s breathing remained labored as Leia gingerly dried his hair and chest. “I feel terrible,” he croaked, his arms held fast around the waist of his dainty caregiver. 

“I know. I know,” Leia cooed, fingertips soothing his bare shoulders. “Doctor’s on the way. You’ll feel better soon, I promise,” she reassured him, instinctively placing a smattering of small kisses atop his damp head. The anxiety of his worsening condition caused her to momentarily drop her guard in front of the three Rogue Squadron members who were watching with interest.

Luke was struck by the affectionate care the princess was bestowing on Solo, Han’s seemingly familiar acceptance of her ministrations and his palpable need to cling to her. The dynamic he was used to seeing between the often quibbling pair had most certainly changed. 

Han was seriously struggling to take in air. Leia’s watery eyes flashed to Luke. He recognized real fear in them. This was as unlike her as it was for the usually swaggering Solo to so obviously show his want for her comforting touch.

Luke was taken aback that he hadn’t recognized the growing connection between his two friends until this moment. He felt a twinge of discomfort for them, knowing how each held close their emotions, especially in public. Their interactions during this crisis was revealing a depth of real feelings not suspected by anyone, Luke thought, except maybe Chewbacca. Chewie always knew the score. That the couple's attachment was revealed in front of Wes Janson, of all people, was a shame. But, Luke reckoned, maybe it was good to get it out in the open, end the salacious speculations and allow them to move forward as a genuine couple.

Chewbacca’s low, baleful moan filtered through the doorway, shaking Luke from his thoughts. Captain Maldrojian, the Medical Bay physician on duty, rushed into the room, C-3PO trailing on her heels. 

Leia was relieved to see Nina Maldrojian. They were friendly and she admired the woman’s considerable skills and no-nonsense attitude. The doctor’s warm, fun-loving personality made her a favorite among the enlisted personnel.

“So, Leia, Chewie tells me that he and this guy,” she tilted her head at Han as she ran a med scanner across his forehead and chest, “collected the medical supplies from Ithor today.” The princess and Han were sitting side-by-side on the edge of her bunk, hands entwined, the right side of his head resting against the left side of hers. 

“I didn’t know you spoke Shyriiwook!” Leia was impressed.

“Nope, I’m not that smart. Threepio translated,” Maldrojian smiled as she slipped a portable oxygen line over her patient’s head. “This should provide some fast relief,” she patted Han’s bare leg and continued chatting. “Good thing the delivery came through. The pharmaceutical he needs was in that inventory.” 

She rummaged through her med kit, asking, “Which one of you moon jockeys can give me some stats on this big boy so I can set the proper dosage?” She peered over to the male faces in the room, but after eyeing Leia and Han’s intertwined fingers, she focused on the princess. 

“Nationality? Weight, height, age? Overall health issues?”

“Corellian. 185 centimeters. He’s almost twice my weight so...180 pounds? 29. Very healthy,” Leia ticked off the answers without hesitation. A large Wookiee head popped in the doorway offering a growled confirmation. 

“Thanks, Chewie,” the doctor called out to the hallway. “Sorry, you can’t come near until you finish cleaning that pollen off your fur.” A baleful Wookiee moan sounded in response.

“No worries, your partner in crime here,” she tilted her head toward Han, “will be just fine.” Maldrojian examined Han’s eyes with a light, “Your co-pilot is very concerned about you, Captain. Or, may I call you Cub?” she winked. 

“Can one of you boys call down to Maintenance and arrange for housekeeping droids to clean the interior of Cubby’s ship? They need to cover the whole shebang and take extra care to sanitize the cockpit. They give you any crap, tell them it’s a direct medical emergency order from Doc Nina.” 

“Consider it done, ma’am,” Wedge jauntily saluted as he switched on his comm link. 

“Afraid you can’t go back on board until your ship’s thoroughly decontaminated,” Nina frowned in sympathy with an out-of-it Han. “Has he taken any other medication, Leia?”

“Benadryl. But, we don’t know when or how many. Is that a problem?” 

“Ach. That over-the-counter junk is too lightweight to interact with the good stuff,” the doctor waved a hypodermic injector and administered it into Solo’s neck. “But, it did the trick keeping his oxygen from being totally cut off. He’s lucky he had it. This was a severe response.”

Within a few moments Han’s breathing was much improved and color was returning to his face. 

“Feel better, Captain Cub?” Maldrojian asked, smiling. 

Han nodded with a slow blink. Exhausted, he offered a subdued thank you. 

“The meds will open his airways, clear out the gunk. He may cough for a spell, but the injection will zonk him out soon enough,” she assured Leia, before turning back to Han. “What say we get some fluids in you while you’re still awake?” 

The ever-vigilant Luke handed Leia a tumbler of water. The princess cupped one hand around the glass, bringing it to Han’s lips while tenderly rubbing his back, “Go easy, okay? Just sip it. Slowly.” 

Nina administered another hypo into Han’s neck. “Just a precautionary antibiotic to avoid infection since his lungs were compromised. Best keep him warm, too.” She called to the Rogues, “How ‘bout one of you go find him a clean shirt?” 

“Top drawer,” Leia quickly responded, nodding toward her built-in cabinet. Wes Janson cleared his throat and eyeballed Wedge. Leia’s face burned. She had just unwittingly told the biggest gossip on base that Han left clothing in her private quarters. 

“Did you find any of my stuff mixed up with your laundry, too?” Luke chimed up very naturally. “I’m still missing socks after that last mission,” he added, tossing the long-sleeved garment he had retrieved to the princess.

Leia loved Luke at that moment. “Sorry. Maybe Chewie has them?” she played along, adjusting the worn white shirt over lethargic Han’s head, directing tanned arms through the sleeves. 

“This is just a precaution, Leia, but I’d like to monitor his oxygen levels overnight. I’ll call for a gurney and we’ll transport him to Med Bay.”

Han squeezed Leia’s hand and quietly pleaded into her ear, “No. No med bay. Falcon.’’

“The Falcon’s not an option, Han,” she brushed her tiny fingers along his broad shoulder. “Can’t he stay here? I…Luke and I can watch over him. Just tell us what to look for. He’s not an easy patient for the Medical Bay.” 

The Rogues laughed at that understatement. The memory was still fresh of the time they dragged a feisty, slightly injured Han there and the havoc it created for an innocent 2-1B droid.

Nina gazed for a moment at the princess as she comforted the afflicted freighter pilot. She nodded her assent with a wry smile, “Okay. C’mon, Leia. Let’s make him more comfortable before he crashes.” 

The doctor propped Leia’s two pillows against the head of the bed. Luke pulled Han to his feet so Leia could tug back the blanket and top sheet. Han settled down into the bunk and Leia tenderly tucked him into the linens. 

“So, what caused this?” Luke inquired of the doctor.

Nina returned supplies to her case as she explained. “Severe allergic reaction to Indyup tree pollen. You can thank Threepio’s data bank for that bit of intel. All the symptoms indicated an asthmatic response to an allergen but we didn’t know which until Chewie told us where they’d been.”

“Ithor,” Leia stated. 

“Yep. The Indyup tree is in full bloom there at the moment. Corellians have a high level of intolerance to its pollen. Anybody else from Corellia been around him tonight?” The doctor looked around the room. Everyone pointed to Wedge. 

Nina pulled another injector from her bag, “How ‘bout an ounce of prevention, Commander? It’s a lower dose than Cubby here required, but, better safe than sorry.” 

“But, why was Han so sick?” Leia asked, watching Wedge take the shot from her perch on the edge of the bunk beside him. 

“May I respond to the Princess’ query, doctor?” Threepio intoned. 

“Be my guest. You got the story straight from the Wookiee’s mouth.”

“As the shipment would be delayed for an extensive period of time, Chewbacca insisted that Captain Solo accompany him on a tour of the floating city’s famous forests. The good Wookiee _so_ misses his arboreal homeland of Kashyyyk,” Threepio sighed dramatically. “He wanted to experience natural greenspace during their downtime and not the interior of the dank cantina where Captain Solo had suggested they wait.” 

“Hey,” Han grumbled groggily. “Cantina air don't make me sick, Goldenrod!” 

“Somebody’s feeling better,” Leia smiled, patting Han’s arm. 

Threepio droned on, “The fact that the captain was within the forest amidst the Indyup trees during the four-hour ecotour exacerbated his allergic reaction. His conditioned worsened as he waited at the starport another two hours for the freight to arrive. His continued exposure during their return journey on the Millennium Falcon added to the peril. You see, your Highness, the pollen was embedded in Captain Solo's clothing and poor, poor Chewbacca’s fur. Oh, the indignity the Wookiee endures whilst having his pelt vacuumed!” 

Han attempted to sit up higher, bracing to respond to the annoying droid, but he was so out of it that Leia easily pushed him back into the pillows.

Luke rolled his eyes as he sipped on a beer, “I can’t imagine Chewie talking Han into taking a tourist tram ride through the Ithor woods!” Now that Han was clearly okay, Wes had passed a round of beers to his fellow pilots.

“Oh, Master Luke, it was not difficult. Chewbacca simply reminded Captain Solo that the cantina would not be an option of which the Little Princess would approve and he acquiesced. I believe, Ma’am,” the droid bowed to Leia, “that 'Little Princess' is the diminutive the Wookiee uses when referring to you. And, if I may be so bold to say so, I think Chewbacca used your good name as a threat to manipulate Captain Solo to do as the Wookiee wished!” 

The Rogues were laughing now. “To Chewbacca,” Wes lifted his bottle in a toast, “Tree hugger and protector against Han's potential hangover.” 

Dr. Madrojian checked the med scanner readout again. “Looks like we can ditch this,” she said, removing the oxygen tubing from Solo’s face. Leia softly brushed back Han’s hair that had been ruffled by the hose. 

“He’s doing fine. He should sleep through the night, but I’ll leave another injector just in case he has an asthmatic attack. Don’t expect you’ll need me, but call if you do.” The doctor plucked at Han’s wrist for a final check of his pulse, “You and I have date in Med Bay first thing in the morning for another once over, Sparky. I’ll give the droids fair warning,” she grinned. 

“Thank you, Nina,” a relieved Leia sighed, extending her hands to the physician.

“You okay to stay up to watch him for a few hours? Don’t think there’s anything to worry about but it’s smart to be cautious.”

“I’ll manage,” Leia flushed pink as a drowsy Han snuggled against her. “Luke will you sit with me?” 

“Of course, Leia. Anything.”

She knew he’d say ‘yes,’ even if she only asked so the Rogues couldn’t say that she and Han spent the night together alone in her cabin. 

“Show’s over, gang. Your buddy is fine. Everybody out except Leia and Luke. And, you,” the doctor grabbed the beer from Wedge, “no booze after that injection!” 

“I appreciate everyone’s help. If he was awake, I know that Han would thank you, too,” Leia called to departing Rogues. “And, Wedge, will you please let Chewie know that Luke and I are staying here with Han tonight?” 

“Sure thing. We’ll check that the Falcon’s being cleaned, too,” Wedge added, shuffling out the door. 

“You throw a hell of an afterparty, Princess,” Wes saluted her with his beer bottle as he strutted out of the room. 

Finally, everyone was gone. Leia took a deep breath. She felt Luke’s eyes on her, and dipped her head down, blushing. 

Luke gave her a small smile. “So….,” he started.

“So,” she replied, biting her lower lip. “Thank you for…for helping to… diffuse things with the Rogues.”

“Leia,” he peered at her with big blue eyes, “You guys?” Before she could respond, a barking series of coughs startled the two. 

Leia ran her fingertips across Han’s jawline in an attempt to settle him down.

“Hi,” she whispered to him as his golden green eyes opened and met hers.

“Hey,” he replied with a faint smile. With a rasped breath, he pulled Leia closer so she could rest her cheek against his forehead. “ ‘M sorry, Leia,” he said regretfully. “Sorry we missed our dance.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay," she replied, stroking his shoulder. "We’ll make it up.” 

Han moved her creamy hand to his lips, kissed the palm, then held it against his chest. 

“Who’d have thought that a tree could knock the wind out of the blustery Han Solo?” she joked softly. 

“No tree,” Han murmured. ‘S you, Sweetheart. You take my breath away.” The sleepy pilot rolled onto his side, making a princess-sized pocket of space next to him on the bunk.

“And, I’m outta here,” Luke mumbled. 

Neither Leia or Han noticed as their friend silently left the room. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Always like to imagine Leia and Han's relationship was more evolved/involved on Hoth before the fateful Ord Mantell mission and Echo Base demise. Silly fluff rules. Doctor character is made up by moi but Ithor and Indyup trees can be found on Wookieepedia. Thought it would be ironic for an INDYup tree to cause Han such distress. ; ) This is just for fun. Not great ficterature by any stretch. I simply needed a little L/H cooing. 
> 
> For the lovely and generous Erin Darroch who has so much more than "a lot of spirit." This wee tome could never reach the richness (and grammatical purity) of her work, but, hopefully, it is a fun read for some of you gentlebeings. Slainte!


End file.
